


When We Dream

by Pagalini



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Barebacking, M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-07
Updated: 2012-08-07
Packaged: 2017-11-11 15:38:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/480104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pagalini/pseuds/Pagalini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean thinks witches are bitches, except for when they're kind of (maybe) not. Like - right now, with Cas' wings spilling out under him and his blue eyes both sweet and demanding; his voice fractured and the both of them drunk on pleasure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When We Dream

**Author's Note:**

> I can't even remember why I wrote this. I vaguely remembering it starting out in response to a dare from a friend, but then it spiralled into depravity and became a heap of gratuitous and unapologetic smut...

“Ah, fuck— _Cas_.”

Dean’s mouth has always been his distinguishing feature. He could say something and be recognised; no matter how well covered his face, no matter what he was wearing. It’s a trait he’s come to accept, over time, and love (but not love, because that would be girly and stupid and Sam would wear that stupid smug face of his and Dean would never live it down).

It’s a feature that distinguishes him even now – tangled up in purple mountain reed, with the sky overcast and brooding overhead and Castiel spread out sweet, so sweet, beneath him (thank fuck for dreams; never mind the reed is purple, which is freakishly close to pink, but the view is pretty fucking spectacular).

Cas laughs – _giggles_ – through the pleasure as Dean slips a hand under the loose neckline of his tunic (he hates witches most of the time, but Cas relaxed and in a flimsy bit of cloth? He could deal with that. He could _really_ deal with that) and traces his fingers over the elegant swoop of his collarbone with a single easy touch. Sliding those fingers down further to tease at his nipples, to pebble and play with them until that giggle hiccups into a stuttering moan.

“Hey, Cas,” he gasps, voice catching on each thrust, drunk with pleasure. “How’d…you feel?”

Those eyes – fucking hell, those _eyes_ – skitter down from the clouds to meet with his, that captivating inky blue flushed even darker, the intensity of them softened by arousal into a swirling mass of colour. Cas blinks, shuttering that blue long enough to jolt Dean back into himself – to stop him from drowning in it – as he tries to speak but cannot; devolving instead to an embarrassing whimper.

“De— _Dean_ ,” he manages, teeth worrying at his lip until it’s as garish a red as a vampire’s lust and fuck it all, it’s so fucking pretty that Dean _wants_ \- wants so much it burns. He heels over, planting his palms either side Cas’ body as he leans over and licks into that mouth, lewd and confident in his movements. Cas babbles something that he shushes with a soft murmur and an ease in the pace, rolling his hips rather than the jabbing thrusts of before, tracing the outline of Castiel’s teeth with his tongue. He blinks and then Cas is staring back at him, clearer with the slowing and fuck, fuck – that intensity is back and it’s going to get him.

“How’d you feel, huh?” he asks again as a decoy, hitching less as his hips rock slower, slower, teasing until Cas is whining and bucking into him, latching onto his mouth with feverish desperation. “Hey, c’mon, tell me, yeah?”

“I don’t _know_ ,” Cas garbles, all frustration and tension and white-hot-whiteness. “Ugh, Dean, De— _Dean—!_ ”

He slows to a total stop then, toes flexing as he fights himself. He pulls away from Castiel’s mouth to lick a long, messy line up the side of his ear. “Tell me how you feel,” he growls, tugging the lobe with his teeth. “Fucking _tell_ me, c’mon.”

Cas’ head lolls back, a hand sneaking down between them to grab at his dick, but Dean snatches it away and pins it down beside his head. Not enough to hurt, never to hurt, but enough to make it felt. He laces their fingers together in apology and squeezes gently, feeling the leading edge of Cas’ wing slide slick down the outside of his arm as his body twists and bucks beneath him.

“Hey, easy, easy,” he hushes, mouth curling as he comes back up to Cas’ lips. Too far to kiss but enough to see his face – flushed and so goddamn hot it makes Dean’s dick jerk just by looking at him. Cas jerks too, because the way Dean’s dick is twitching from just looking at him makes it rub up against that spot deep inside; sending heavy-hot heat burning through his gut, making his body arch and curl in spasm. “Cas,” he says, sleazy and yet affectionate. “Tell me, c’mon.” _Don’t make this weird._

“F-fucking,” Cas starts, stuttering on the word and that is just too much for words, seeing him stumble over and – fucking hell, he feels so good around Dean’s cock – stutter that word, even when he’s actually doing the physical deed. “Full,” he finishes after a while. “Ohh, ohhh, Dean, it’s so full and, and, I can’t, please, please, Dean—!”

That’s what he wanted to hear and more. Balls tight, gut hot, Dean draws back and _rams_ back in, taking more pleasure in the way Cas curls up around him, feet hooking over his back. He can feel muscles shifting in Cas’ trapped wrists, which makes arousal spike fierce in his gut – but the way Cas’ wings spill out of control, folding and unfolding in a flurry of dark glossy feathers as they spasm with his pleasure…it’s stupid and amazing and insane. It’s fucking hot - an angel hot for him, him hot for an angel, that angel giving it up in a crazy (and disturbingly purple) dream-scape with his wings out – with his _everything_ out.

One of Cas’ wings comes up on a particularly hard thrust that has him wailing, sending one hand up to clutch at Dean’s shoulder (over the handprint, oh _fuck_ ) even as his wings flare open and smack Dean right in the ribs along the way. He’s too far gone to apologise, rocking his hips down onto Dean’s cock, blue eyes hazy and dark. His dark hair has fallen back off his face, curling sweetly in the heat created between them into a tangled pitch-dark halo.

His wings flex again, the hard leading edge of the primaries slipping sharp and painful over his side. Dean halts in his thrusting for a moment, ignoring Cas’ resulting cry, ignoring him writhing on his cock in the reeds on a fucking _mountainside_ , no privacy here if someone comes a-callin’ (never mind it’s a dream, in this whole fucked-up world he figures that if other angels come dream-stalking it totally counts, because it just does - and okay, maybe he can't really think straight right now, what the fuck ever). He snatches the hand from his shoulder and mirrors the other, so that both are pinned either side of Cas’ head, and shoves his wings down out of the way.

“Fuck, fuck, Cas, you’re so fucking tight,” he gasps out, hips stuttering. _You’re so hot, baby, love you, love you so much_ — he doesn’t say, because he knows Cas will still hear it and they are words that’ll only go black on his tongue, turn to dust and kill them both; kill this amazing thing that is blooming bright and amazing between them.

Cas whimpers something - his spine buckles and both wings spill open in a surge of darkness. He hisses something between his teeth and then moans properly, long and loud and he’s coming, muscles clenching helplessly around Dean’s cock, spurting white over his lean pale belly. Cas coming, oh gods, Cas coming _untouched_ , he felt it _that fucking much_ – it’s enough to send Dean soaring over the edge, hips snapping and teeth bared as he spills out inside Cas and folds down over him, muscles locked and limbs shaking.

As he comes back to himself he becomes aware of downy softness against his back. It appears he lost his hold on Cas’ wrists when he came, and now Cas has got his arms _and_ his wings wrapped over his shoulders, the soft under-feathers luxurious against the hot-sticky skin of Dean’s back.

“Dean?”

He murmurs sleepily by way of response, tonguing sloppily at Cas’ collarbone and giving it a teasing nip. “Yeah, what?”

“That was f—that was, uh, nice,” he finishes, awkward. Dean doesn’t have to look up to know he’s blushing – not full-face blushing or anything, but the line of his mouth will be fractured and the blue of his eyes uncertain. The quiet dignity of the expression, even only in his mind, is Dean’s undoing; something taking root inside, strong and forever.

“It was really _fucking_ nice,” Dean grins, trying to oppose the seriousness of the moment. He rocks his hips for a moment before reluctantly sliding back and out, Cas’ breath hitching with the motion. “Hey, hey, there we go.”

Cas is  _asleep._  His breath is coming in little snuffles and his face is slack, lacking its usual terseness. On a dopey whim Dean presses a line of kisses up from his collar and along the fragile line of his throat before kissing his forehead with what he is sure is a stupidly goofy smile. He rolls off to the side, carefully pulling Cas’ nearest wing over him so as not to land on it, before curling around his back and hooking an arm over his waist to draw him in. He buries his face in the curls of sweat-damp dark hair at his nape, inhaling sex and that weird biting-sweet scent that’s all Cas, before nesting a kiss there and letting himself go to sleep too, never mind potential nightmares. Cas doesn’t like nightmares - he wards them away like the guardian he is, perching or no.

Personal space doesn't seem like such a big deal anymore, somehow.


End file.
